


Sleepless Nights

by Navyrants



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Comfort, Depression, F/F, Nightmares, Unhealthy Sleeping Habits, it's just in the part talking about max's nightmares, it's only one line but be safe, lightly implied character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-20 02:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5989279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Navyrants/pseuds/Navyrants
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sleeping has never really been easy for Kate, but she thinks that might not be so bad with someone staying up with her.</p><p>Max still suffers from nightmares months after that one awful week, but it's easy to avoid them if she just doesn't sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Coming Home

Recovery has been a long process.

You’d spent a while in the hospital, until they decided you were no longer a danger to yourself, and then you’d gone home with your family rather than returning to school. You thought it might be best to put some distance between yourself and that place for a while.

The hardest part, you think, is sleeping. But then, that’s never been easy for you. You lie awake in your bed, staring upwards until you can make out the imperfections in the ceiling even through the oppressive darkness, trying to calm your mind just long enough to slip into slumber. It races fast and reckless for hours, rapids of self-deprecation and half-finished doubts crashing through your head.

Besides that, the last time you can remember actually dreaming is the first night in the hospital, and even that wasn’t much. It was just a hand, reaching down to you from somewhere above. You tried so hard to take it, to let it pull you to safety, but you kept falling away from it. You just couldn’t close the gap. Since then there’s been nothing, just a few hours of comforting darkness before you have to open your eyes again.

But over the weeks, you _did_ improve. Not steadily; you still had waves of ups and downs, but your downs were no longer as low as before, and your ups were more than just not being sad. You played your violin in the mornings, drew in the afternoons, and ate dinner with your parents and sisters every night.

There have been some tense moments, and you’re still struggling with the disapproval of some family members, but your dad and sisters have been so, so supportive and you don’t think you can thank them enough. You know if you tried, they’d just smile and tell you they love you.

(You’re tempted anyway, just to hear them say it. You still need the reminder sometimes.)

But now you’ve decided you can handle school again, so you’re sitting back in your dorm room at Blackwell, ready for the new semester to start tomorrow.

Slight rephrase: you’re ready for the new semester to start later today, considering the numbers on your clock just ticked up to 3:27am.

You’d hoped it might be a little easier to fall asleep, just this once, but of course that was in vain. You sigh, listening to the small sounds that come with the territory of living in a dorm. Someone shifting in their bed and making it creak, a constant drip of water in the showers across the hall, faint music indicative of someone staying up far too late. Otherwise, you hear nothing, and it’s the kind of quiet you want to fill with your violin just so you don’t have to listen to your own thoughts anymore.

But living right next to Victoria Chase means that’s a very, very bad idea.

Instead, you focus on counting-- _one, two, three_ \--just something to occupy your mind and chase the insecurities away. _Six, seven, eight, nine,_ the numbers start to sync up with the faint splat of the dripping faucet, and you time your breathing to it. Maybe if you just do this long enough, you can trick your body into sleeping.

After what feels like forever-- _eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine, ninety_ \--you open your eyes and glance at the clock. 3:29am. Frustration breaks over you like a wave, but ebbs just as quickly. You’ve gotten so used to this that you can’t even really be angry anymore, just weary.

A new sound comes from across the hall, where Max’s room is. You hear her door open and close, and then her footsteps in the hall. At first you think she must be going to the bathroom, but the steps stop after only a few. You don’t hear anything at all outside for a while--you check the clock again; 3:31am--so, curiosity piqued, you pull yourself out of bed to investigate.

When you open the door, she’s standing there pallid and trembling slightly with her fist half-raised as if to knock. You think you look just as surprised as she does.

“Um,” she says after a moment, utterly confused, as if you’d come to _her_ door in the middle of the night. You feel your expression melt into one of concern; she looks like she’s seen a ghost.

“Are you alright, Max?” You’re not sure it’ll do any good to ask, but it can’t hurt to try. You want to wipe her fear away like a tear, easy as a brush of a thumb. It’s never quite that simple, though, is it?

“Yeah, I, um...” Max trails off, takes a shaky breath, and tries for a smile. You think you’re not supposed to notice the way her lip quivers just a bit, or the way the color hasn’t returned to her skin yet. “I’m fine, Kate. Just--” She clears her throat a bit, maybe covering up a crack in her voice to spare you from a crack in your heart. “Just a bad dream.”

 _Just_ a bad dream obviously doesn’t do it justice, if she’s standing here drained and worried at (you distractedly glance at your clock) 3:33am. It takes a moment for the pieces to click together in your head, but suddenly you get it. You’d sort of forgotten how terrible that day was for Max as well.

You shuffle to the side, silently inviting her into your room with the softest smile you can muster. She hesitates, and you think she’s thinking it’s a bother, so you pull her in before she can come up with an excuse. You weren’t going to be able to sleep, and it looks like she won’t be able to either, so you might as well stay up together.

You sit her down on your bed and flick the lamp at your desk on before dropping yourself next to her. You aren’t sure what to say (“Sorry for giving you nightmares,” and “I guess I ruined both of our sleeping patterns” run through your mind), so you’re relieved when she speaks first.

“Your room is different than it was before...y’know, _before._ ” It’s a simple observation, but as you look around you realize how right she is. When you’d left Blackwell last semester, your room had been...kind of a mess, if you’re honest. You’d left things laying out because you didn’t have the energy to put them away properly, and the floor had been littered with crumpled-up drawings you couldn’t stand to look at anymore.

Moving back in, you’d been careful to organize your room as simply and cleanly as you could. You wanted to make it easier to handle when-- _if,_ you correct yourself gently--things get bad again.

But you don’t tell her any of that, because the way she’d intoned _before_ \--before you’d left, you know she means--makes the whole subject feel taboo. Maybe she didn’t mean it that way, but you think it’s better to steer away from darker subjects for the time being anyway; you’re not sure you want to talk about it in the first place. Instead, you nod.

“I thought rearranging things a bit might be nice. I like it better this way.” That’s true, at least. Not to say you disliked the way things were _before_ , but you already feel like the new semester is leagues more manageable. She smiles at you, and her freckles don’t seem to stand in such stark contrast to the color of her skin anymore.

“I like it, too. It’s homey.” That makes you giggle, because it’s such a Max thing to say.

A comfortable silence settles between you like an old friend. You almost let your head fall on her shoulder, but you catch yourself at the last second, afraid of ruining the moment.

Then she starts fidgeting, a frown twisting itself onto her face, and you’re worried again.

“I don’t, um...it’s been a while since--” Her legs are pulled up as she slumps against your wall, and she smooths her hands from her thighs up to her knees as she takes a breath. “I haven’t really had a nightmare in a while. Not about that night, anyway.” You’re tempted to ask about her _other_ nightmares, but you’re a little relieved you’re not causing her nightly grief. There’s a long pause as you try to come up with a response, but she continues before you can.

“I’m still just...scared of losing you.”

Oh.

_Oh._

If you’d had any hope of finding your words before, it’s gone now. You reach out and tentatively brush your fingers against her wrist where it still rests on her leg, turning her hand over and letting yours slide into it, almost like a question. Max stares at your joined hands for a long moment, and you’re considering pulling away in case you’ve made her uncomfortable, until she squeezes slowly and shifts so that your shoulders touch.

As the tension drains away and your words file back into your head, you take a moment to build them up into a suitable sentence and brush your thumb over her knuckles.

“I’m not going anywhere, Max.” This time you let your head drop to her shoulder, briefly enjoying the slight way she tips her head towards yours like she can’t even help it. And it’s a promise you don’t think you could have made in October, or even two weeks ago, but here and now it feels more sincere than just about anything you’ve ever said. You hope she knows that.

Neither of you sleep that night, and you’re still fighting off the negative thoughts that threaten your self-worth, but the silence is comforting instead of terrifying.

If sleepless nights have to be your norm, you think something like this could be tolerable.


	2. Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The words are there, you just can't find them. Or maybe you already have.

You’ve been struggling with nightmares for weeks. Months. It doesn’t get easier, but it also doesn’t really get harder, so you decide you just need to learn to cope.

“Learning to cope,” you discover, is something that rolls off your tongue as easy as your own name, but is nearly impossible to put into practice. You think you put up a good act in front of the others, but somehow that just makes it so much harder to deal with alone.

That’s how you end up nearly falling out of bed the night before the new semester starts and stumbling across the hall to bother Kate Marsh. You realize what you’re doing as you reach her door and you know you should turn around and go back to bed, but there’s some nagging feeling in the back of your head that roots you to the spot with your hand half-raised. And then she opens the door.

You’re so startled that all you can manage is a half-choked, _“Um,”_ like it’s weirder that she’s there than it is that you are. But she smiles and invites you in and the two of you spend the whole night just sitting together, not sleeping, but not talking either. It’s comfortable and comforting and exactly what you need.

You’re not sure how it became a regular thing; maybe it was gradual, starting off with just once a week and working up to your current schedule of damn near every night, or maybe it was this way from the start. Either way, it’s a month later and you haven’t slept in days, but you’d argue your mental state is better than it was.

You _would,_ if you were in a mental state where you could make any sort of coherent argument.

It’s Dana who brings it up first. She’d become more attentive towards not only Kate, but everyone on the hall after October, though the first few weeks had been a struggle as she tried to find a balance between being helpful and being overbearing. She catches the two of you as you’re leaving the dorm for a walk together.

“Hey, are you guys okay? You both seem pretty tired lately.” You feel like a deer caught in the headlights despite the simplicity of the question. You don’t want to admit to your nightmares (how would you even explain them?), but you know you can’t lie to Dana.

“We’re fine, Dana.” Kate answers for you and your knees almost buckle with relief. “I’ve been having trouble getting to sleep lately and Max has been staying up with me.”

“Misery loves company?” You offer weakly, thankful she didn’t mention your own problems. Dana gives you a skeptical half-glare that your peers have lovingly dubbed the “mom look,” but ultimately lets you continue on your way.

Kate shyly lets her finger hook itself through your pinkie as you step outside, and you beam at her. The timid, flustered smile she sends back sets your heart racing, and you have to duck your head to gather yourself.

(How can one person be so cute?)

And the thing is that you’ve been spending a lot more time with Kate during the day, as well. There’s something about sharing your 3am thoughts with someone that creates a certain kind of bond. You think there’s something else there too, stealing your words and tying your stomach in knots whenever she laughs, but it’s hard to think too hard about that when you haven’t slept in two days.

It’s day four when a teacher asks you a question and you realize you can’t remember what class you’re in, or anything that’s happened today. You stare at her blankly and she repeats her words, but it just sounds like a garbled mess to you. You shoot a quick glance at Kate across the classroom, but she’s staring at her desk with a look on her face like she just discovered the meaning of life, only to find it utterly uninteresting.

The teacher sighs and moves on to someone else, though even in your distracted state you don’t miss the disappointed expression.

Then suddenly it’s day five and you don’t remember time passing, but you’ve been subsisting on energy drinks and caffeine pills for the past two days and you can barely remember your own name. You’re in Kate’s room, laying on her bed with your legs across her lap as she tries (not very successfuly, judging by her expression) to read a book you think was assigned in English class. You stare at the ceiling with a thousand thoughts running through your head, but not a single one you can actually decipher. It’s like your brain is speaking a different language.

A few times, you open your mouth to say something, but the words are gone before you can even start to talk. It’s more than a little frustrating, and you can’t shake the feeling that there’s something you need to say.

Kate touches your knee and you lean up on your elbows to look at her. The book is at her side now and she looks like she’s trying to look concerned, but she’s not doing a very good job of it.

“What?” She covers her mouth with a hand and tries to stifle a giggle with a fake cough.

“Nothing, you’re just...pouting.”

“I do _not_ pout.” This is a lie; you can clearly remember pouting on multiple occasions, but you won’t let her accuse you of such scandal. She laughs and you sit up fully to give her a halfhearted glare. You can’t hold it for more than a second, though; partially because sleep deprivation has reduced the feeling in your face and partially because you can’t even pretend to be mad at Kate. Instead, you let your head fall on her shoulder as you laugh with her.

You sit like that for a while, even after your laughter subsides, because it feels nice to be tucked into her side like this. Plus, your thoughts have quieted, much to your relief; you were getting pretty tired of all that busy nothingness bouncing around your head. And then--

“What?” Kate’s tense and flustered and you have no idea why. You lift your head from her shoulder and give her a quizzical look.

“What?” Her face is bright red and she won’t meet your eyes, and for some reason that hurts a little.

“You, um...you said something.” You don’t remember saying anything, which is odd because you usually remember things you’ve said for at _least_ ten minutes afterward. Then again, you can’t even recall what happened between math class yesterday and laying on Kate’s bed today, so you suppose you can’t rule out the idea that you said something without realizing it.

“What did I say?” She’s silent for a long time, which worries you. What could you possibly have said to upset her so much? But eventually, she just brushes it off.

“It was nothing, Max. Do you want to go get some tea?” That’s not something you can often say no to, so you bounce to your feet and stretch, doing your best to ignore it as your vision blacks out for a moment.

(That happens to everyone sometimes, you tell yourself. It’s nothing to be worried about.)

And Kate’s still got a weird expression on her face, but she doesn’t seem as uncomfortable as before so you decide not to press it. The two of you step out into the hall, ready for your tea date, but Dana’s waiting for you. Her arms are firmly crossed to match her stern gaze and it feels very much like you’ve been caught stealing from the cookie jar.

“You two haven’t been sleeping.” Her tone is accusatory, like skipping a night or two (or five) of sleep is a crime, but her expression quickly softens into one of worry. “Seriously, are you guys alright?”

“Well,” you begin before you have time to process exactly what’s about to come out of your mouth. “I can’t feel the left side of my face, so I guess you could say I’m _all right._ ” Dana squeezes her eyes shut like she’s trying to will your words away, and Kate snorts.

You might have felt some shame if you weren’t so tired, but instead you just give them both a shit-eating grin.

“That’s it, I’m putting you both to bed.” Everything about Dana from her tone to her expression to her body language leaves no room for argument, but thinking about the inevitable nightmares drags the smile off your face. You know she must notice, because she’s staring right at you. She hesitates before pushing you towards your room.

“I don’t want to see either of you leave your rooms until you’ve slept. Got it?” And there’s the mom look again, boring into you first, then Kate, who quickly nods and retreats into her room. You close your door behind you slowly, Dana watching you the whole time.

You try to sleep. You try _really hard_ to sleep. Every time you close your eyes, images from your nightmares flash across your eyelids and you’re wide awake again. Blue hair stained red and gunshots ringing in your ears. Dogs barking and syringes and the flash of a camera in a white room. Anxiety and fear churn in your gut because you don’t want to wake up alone; _god,_ you just want to stop waking up alone. Everything is worse when you’re alone.

You don’t know how long you lay in bed before you finally give up. Maybe you can sneak across the hall and crash on Kate’s couch. She won’t even notice, and if you’re lucky Dana won’t either. You turn your doorknob slowly and ease the door open, stepping into the hall as quietly as possible.

“I hear you, Max Caulfield!” Maybe you weren’t as quiet as you thought. Dana’s standing by her doorway, hand planted on her hips. She stalks towards you and you somehow have the presence of mind to at least attempt a guilty expression.

Kate cracks her door and peeks out curiously, earning an apologetic glance from Dana.

“Sorry, Kate. Did we wake you?”

“No,” she steps out and sheepishly rubs the back of her neck. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

Dana lets out an exasperated groan.

“What am I going to do with you two?” This time, you have an answer, and it’s not even a terrible pun.

“I think I’d sleep a little easier with someone else in the room.” You throw a glance at Kate, hoping she’s willing to humor you in this. She brightens a bit and you can’t help the smile that twitches at the corner of your mouth.

And as you’re curled up on her blue couch and she’s tucked into her bed, you could swear you hear her murmur “I love you, too.” You write it off as an exhaustion-induced hallucination, though, because for her to have said that you would had to have said it first, right? In any case, you drift off soon after and wake up feeling more rested than you have since October.

Weeks pass and you and Kate sleep in the same room every night--sometimes hers, sometimes yours. You refused to make her take the couch, but she refused to take the bed, so you begrudgingly agreed to alternate. 

The nightmares don’t get better, but they don’t get worse, either, and she’s always there when you wake up to remind you you’re not alone. In return, you mumble reassurances and compliments until you fall asleep in an attempt to keep her doubts at bay.

You think if this is how things have to be, coping might not be so hard.


End file.
